


Mild Asymmetries

by calescently



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dorks on Dates, Getting Together, I Tried, I have lost all control of the situation, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, hahaha, sbweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-12 03:41:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2094360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calescently/pseuds/calescently
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are days when leaving his room feels like stepping into a warzone, but damn if Sam Wilson doesn’t make it easy. If Bucky can get his shit together in the next five minutes, they’ll go out for ice cream and then watch a picture at Sam’s place.</p><p> <br/>It’s a big ‘if.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mild Asymmetries

**Author's Note:**

> Love and life interested me so  
> that I dare to knock at the door of the cosmos  
> -Sun Ra, Door of the Cosmos

 

 

 

Camel trousers thump against Bucky’s bedroom wall. Metal clicks against brass buttons and Bucky frowns at the noise. 

 

Have pants always been this difficult? It doesn’t matter. He’s going to destroy Steve’s “superior” grasp on modern fashion if it kills him. After Bucky finally understood everything that happened to him, it stung a little to realize how well— how _quickly_ — Steve had adjusted. 

 

He's not entirely sure why. 

 

There are still plenty of blanks, but Bucky remembers enough to know Steve’s in his element now— running around, saving the day. It makes no sense, but Bucky can’t shake the feeling that something’s _off_ , that there’s something he should be doing.  Two shirts fly over his shoulders before he finds the one Natasha... donated. It’s simple and black and fitted; the collar dips low enough to show his dog-tags.  He checks his watch. Ten minutes.

 

His hair’s kind of a mess, but he can afford to leave it. One of the perks of this millennium’s fashion. Asking Steve or Natasha for fashion advice would probably be easier than all the recon he’s been doing, but the thought makes him frown. Bucky isn’t sure if he’s ever been as much of an open book as Steve seems to think he was, but he definitely isn’t now. It doesn’t bother him much. But. Sometimes, Bucky feels like there’s a canyon between him and the rest of the world, bottomless and empty. Sometimes it feels like safety. Usually, it feels like failure. 

 

It’s different with Sam.  Maybe it’s the way his lips work when he smiles. Maybe it’s because, occasionally, Bucky sees him struggle with his own distance. Maybe it’s because he’s so damn _friendly_ , so magnetic and warm Bucky can’t help but edge a little closer.  There are days when leaving his room feels like stepping into a warzone, but damn if Sam Wilson doesn’t makes it easy. If Bucky can get his shit together in the next five minutes, they’ll go out for ice cream and then watch a picture at Sam’s place.

 

It’s a big ‘if.’

 

From what Steve tells him, Bucky was— _is_ —a natural flirt. It’s drives Steve up the wall when Bucky goes for it, but Sam makes it so _fun_ , matches him move for move and raises hell with him when Steve complains too loudly. Bucky isn’t tired of it, not by a long-shot.  He just wants more. 

 

Reservations have a way of slipping away when it comes to Sam. He gives Bucky space when he needs it, and lets him close when he doesn’t. Hushed jokes, quick touches.  It’s good.  But Bucky wants Sam close enough to memorize. Wants to be close enough to hear what Sam can’t say, close enough to feel what he needs so Bucky can _give_ it to him.

 

_ **Beep beep. Beep beep. Beep beep.** _

 

“Shit,” Bucky swears, thumbs off the alarm with a sharp frown.    


 

* * *

 

 

It’s a disaster. 

 

The ice cream parlor he’d planned on showing Sam is mysteriously closed. Neither of them want to deal with the fallout of comming Natasha for ice cream coordinates, so they wander around until Sam spots another place. The sheer amount of ice-cream on display shocks them. Bucky has never seen so many flavors in his life. If Sam’s dazed expression is anything to go by, he’s not the only one. 

 

“So...” Bucky drawls. “I’ll let you handle this.”

 

“Ooh no,” Sam shakes his head. “You’re not getting out of this that easy.”

 

Sam is no pushover, but Bucky has learned that, if he tilts his head just right, he can make Sam fold like a disassembled rifle. Sam pretends not to notice. 

 

It lasts about nine seconds.

 

“Fine,” Sam sighs, looking amused despite himself as he steps forward.

 

“Three scoops,” Bucky adds, taking a quiet step back and letting his eyes trail down. Sam’s top fits him ridiculously well, but his _jeans_. 20th century pants may be difficult, but Bucky is learning to appreciate them.  Sam shoots a piercing glare over his shoulder.

 

“Please,” Bucky amends. 

 

He ends up with a weird hybrid of Espresso Therapy, Cotton Candy, and Mint Chip. Sam manages to look smug and delicious at the same time, smirking with Rocky Road smeared at the corner of his mouth.  Bucky calls it a success.

 

* * *

“Seven Samurai,” he repeats slowly. “That sounds familiar.”

 

It sounds like a mission codename.

 

“It’s pretty famous,” Sam replies. He frowns down at the Stark screen, bites his bottom lip in indecision. Bucky lets himself stare. This isn’t the first time Sam has struggled to find the perfect picture to show him, or just the right song. Probably won’t be the last. A familiar doubt gnaws at Bucky, makes him wonder if he can really deserve this, if he can deserve _Sam_ , after everything. 

 

“We can watch something else if you want. How do you feel about subtitles?” 

 

Sam smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. The movement lifts Sam’s shirt, flashes a glimpse of sepia skin. Bucky breathes. 

 

“It’s fine,” he says. “Sit next to me, or ain’t you my date?”

 

“Take it easy, Barnes. I didn’t forget.” 

 

“That would be terrible,” Bucky agrees. 

 

When Sam curls up next to him, Bucky slips an arm across his shoulders as casually as he can.  It earns him the most unimpressed look imaginable.  Bucky can’t really play innocent, but he can, if he tries, look _slightly less suspicious_. It must be hilarious, because Sam breaks into a goofy grin and shakes his head, relaxes into Bucky’s hold. 

 

“You’re mine, too, you know,” Sam says later, after the credits finally end. “My date, I mean.” 

 

He’s tucked firmly against Bucky’s side, head resting on his chest. He feels heavy, solid. Warm and good. Bucky swallows.

 

“You sure?” 

 

Bucky’s voice is a little uneven, but his eyes are calm as he turns to peer into Sam’s. He might mess this up. He might be reading this _all_ _wrong_ , but... Sam won’t fault him for it. Won’t hurt him. 

 

Everything’s easier with Sam.

 

“Cos I can just be _yours_ ,” Bucky offers. “But you gotta be mine.” 

 

The words come out syrup slow, but Sam watches him speak with the kind of attention he usually reserves for missions, searching and critical. Sam’s got a sharp eye. Bucky wonders what he’s looking for, hopes he finds it. 

 

Time goes funny, fast and slow all at once, until Sam nods.

 

“I can be,” Sam starts. He pauses. Licks his lips. “I want to.”

 

“Good,” Bucky whispers, and he barely hears it over the noise his heart makes. “Good.” He turns at the waist so he can face Sam better, lets his hand slide from Sam’s shoulders to his knee.  “You’re amazing,” Bucky grins, and he knows it's kinda crooked but he also knows Sam likes it anyway, likes _Bucky_ , wants to be his.  

 

“I already said yes, Barnes. You don’t have to sweet-talk me.” 

 

Sam tries to hold a straight face and fails, relents to a brilliant smile. 

 

Bucky’s usually better at control, but Sam has been testing his limits all day. It’s only fair to steal a kiss. Sam tastes like Rocky Road and sunflower seeds, and Bucky is addicted instantly. Sam makes a low sound and parts his lips, shifts closer.  Bucky licks into the sweetness of Sam’s mouth, has to steel himself to pull back. Seeing his dazed pout makes it a little easier. Just a little. 

 

“I know you said yes,” Bucky agrees. “That’s why I gotta tell you, I wanna do this at your pace. We can do this slow,” Bucky says earnestly, giving Sam’s knee a reassuring squeeze while holding his gaze.  “But if you want...” Bucky trails off with a wink, then cups the firm warmth of Sam’s inner thighs through his jeans. “We can do it fast.” Heat licks low in his stomach when he sees Sam’s eyes dart down, sees him lick his lips. 

 

Bucky lets himself lean forward, just a little.

 

“Whatever you want, Sam.” Bucky lets his hand slide back to Sam’s knee. Sam fixes him with a complex expression that Bucky wants to kiss away, but he presses on. “Whatever you need.” 

 

“That... that sounds pretty good,” Sam admits, then bites gently at his bottom lip in a familiar tell. Bucky holds his breath. 

 

“But, it also sounds like you want to. Uh. Take care of me?” Sam, who wears confidence like a second skin, frowns with uncertainty. He covers Bucky’s hand with his own. “I mean, no complaints, but... what about what _you_ want?”

 

Bucky swallows, tries to get the words out.

 

“I want to take care of you.” Bucky realizes with absolute clarity that it’s true as soon as he says it. The thought makes him a little dizzy. “That’s what I want. Trust me, it’s no sacrifice on my part, Wilson. You wanna know what _I_ want?”

 

“Yeah,” Sam challenges. 

 

Bucky’s heart pounds urgently in his chest. 

 

 “Want you to tell me what you need, always. Wanna know what you want, when you want it, what you _like_.  Even if you can’t tell me, I’ll find a way to take care of you. And you’ll let me because you _want_ me to. That’s what I want.”  

 

Sam’s lips part, but he doesn’t speak. He  blinks down at their hands, head tilted thoughtfully. Bucky rests his metal fingers atop Sam’s hand, catches his attention. 

 

“Doesn’t have to work that way,” Bucky says softly. “As long as you’re mine.”

 

Sam observes him carefully, and Bucky has never been more terrified just watching a man think. Then Sam leans into Bucky’s space, slowly, deliberately, just close enough for their lips to brush. 

 

“Think I’d like that,” Sam confides. 

 

“Yeah?” 

 

Each word is a thrill of sensation, pulls Bucky taught with waiting. 

 

“Don’t wanna wait.”

 

“ _Fuck_ , Sam.” 

 

Bucky groans against Sam’s lips, surging forward to meet him, starved to touch him. Sam is incredible, stretched and flexing under him. Bucky gets Sam on his back, knees parted so he has room to touch, to feel.  His eyelids grow heavy when he finally gets Sam’s throat under his mouth. All the little sounds Sam won’t let himself make yet, Bucky can taste them. He knows what Sam wants right now, what he needs. Bucky paws at the front of Sam’s  jeans, feels him hard and wanting.

 

“ _Bucky_ ,” Sam groans, hips arching into the pressure. “Come on, now.”

 

Bucky sits up with a grunt, pulls Sam up to straddle his thighs. 

 

“Gonna make you feel so good,” he murmurs, makes quick work of Sam’s shirt and fly. 

 

Sam’s boxers are black, but Bucky can see where a darker wetness has seeped through. They both moan when Bucky finally yanks Sam’s underwear down and palms his dick, caresses the stiff length.  It’s thick and gorgeous and Bucky could probably look at it all day, but Sam has other ideas. He grabs Bucky’s hand and _licks_ it, drags wet heat across his palm, the pads of his fingers. Sam catches Buck’s eye and smiles, easy as anything, like he isn’t rearranging Bucky’s world. 

 

“Want you to touch me,” he says candidly, guides Bucky’s wet fingers his erection and groans at the contact. “Feels good.”

 

 Bucky growls something neither of them understand and pushes Sam further up on his lap, ducks down and assaults Sam’s left nipple with lips and tongue and teeth. 

 

“ _Damn_ ,” Sam gasps, hips twitching. 

 

Bucky grins against Sam’s skin, gives his other nipple a quick, rough kiss and sits back, because he’s gotta see the look on Sam’s face, needs to see it.  He drags his hand slowly up Sam’s dick, just to feel. Sam closes his eyes with a blissed-out little sigh, and it’s absolutely perfect. Bucky wants to make him scream. 

 

“You look good,” Bucky rasps. “Look good when you come?”  

 

Sam’s eyes snap open, so Bucky rewards him with a few long, smooth jerks. Sam tries to stay still, but he ends up grinding his ass against Bucky’s confined erection, chasing the sensation.  Bucky whimpers and spits into his hand again, starts to pump Sam hard now that he’s wet enough, slick and hot in Bucky’s hand. Sam bites his lip and _whines_ , leans close to slip a shaky hand between them and yank at Bucky’s fly.

 

Bucky takes the opportunity to suck a hickey under Sam’s jaw.

 

“Jesus, Buck—ah!”

 

“Like that?” 

 

Bucky sweeps his thumb over Sam’s frenulum, has to spread his legs a little wider when Sam moans right into his ear. The sound gets in his head, makes him hungry and possessive, makes his hand pump quicker and grip tighter.  Sam's blindsided. He abandons Bucky’s fly to clutch his shoulders, hips canting up high and needy. Bucky nudges him into a dirty kiss, gropes at Sam’s ass with his left hand just to feel him shudder. 

 

“Nnn, _fuck_.” Sam gasps, rests his forehead against Bucky’s. “I can’t, I... I gotta—”

 

“You wanna come?” The thought sends a jolt of arousal through Bucky, make his hips jerk up, bouncing Sam in his lap. “Tell me.”  Bucky’s hips work fast now, pushing and grinding. Sam groans, voice low and wrecked and delicious, and looks Bucky dead in the eye, panting.

 

“I wanna come,” Sam breathes, like it’s a secret just for him.

 

Time goes funny again, passes in a tangled rush of touch and heat and skin. Bucky’s not sure which of them is moaning until Sam shouts, voice cracked with pleasure. Bucky strokes him through it, murmurs encouragement into Sam’s throat until release catches him, too, leaves him speechless. 

 

Bucky pants hard, eyes closed. Then strong fingers curl into his hair,  pull him into a kiss that starts off searing but finishes slow, lazy and sated. Bucky takes his time, tasting, and realizes that Sam has only gotten sweeter. 

 

“Damn,” Sam sighs, giving his head a rueful little shake. “Clean-up’s gonna suck.”

 

“I got it, sugar,” Bucky smirks, carefully pushing Sam down on the couch and curling up beside him.  

 

“You look entirely too pleased with yourself, ” Sam grumbles. He tries to look reproachful, but mostly he ends up looking sexed-out and sleepy and _happy_. Bucky looks his fill, traces Sam’s cheek with his fingers.

 

“Could be,” Bucky smiles.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I do not want to force confessions from him, I want him, of his own accord, to choose me as his confidant—and then I will enjoy myself!...  
> -Pechorin, A Hero of Our Time


End file.
